


appliqué

by FixerRefutation



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: ...probably, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Despair, Fashion AU, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Only sometimes tho, Saiouma pit ss, Shuichi is a suave shit and kokichi is a little shit, amamis literally just mentioned, literally no angst i swear, poor guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:59:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixerRefutation/pseuds/FixerRefutation
Summary: Shuichi’s mind drew an absolute blank when it came to Kokichi Ouma. Had he been asked what he thought when he first met the guy, he would’ve replied with, ‘polite, and maybe even cute, just a little bit.’ Two weeks later, Kokichi would be a tricky little shit. Three weeks in, a self-proclaimed phantom thief. Four, five hours, perhaps weeks, and suddenly he’s the suaviest gentleman ever to suave.





	appliqué

**Author's Note:**

> It goes somewhere, then it doesnt- what the frcik 
> 
> anyways dsjfkh to my ss CEREAL
> 
> yes thats their name shut up

Shuichi, as patient as he was made to be, had even times where he’d just about reached his limit with these damned designers. In any other case, perhaps with the kind-looking, green-haired makeup artist in the other room, or with the exceedingly optimistic astronaut-inspired textile designer, he’d be just fine. Enjoy their company, even.

His heart stuttered in surprise at the sudden  _ poke  _ of a needle, close to his chest and to the design of the latest juvenile threads, just below his collarbone. He yelped a bit, admittedly, but mostly in surprise than anything else.

“Ah, nish..ishishi..” A decidedly childish voice wafted to his ears and left an unpleasant aftertaste in his own mouth. “Whoopsie, Mr. Model-chan! Guess you’ll have to fidget a little less than that!” A tsk, and Shuichi held the distinct feeling that it was going to be a long while before Ouma stopped poking and prodding his poor vest. 

Shuichi’s mind drew an absolute blank when it came to Kokichi Ouma. Had he been asked what he thought when he first met the boy, he would’ve replied with, ‘polite, and maybe even cute, just a little bit.’ Two weeks later, Kokichi would be a tricky little shit. Three weeks in, a self-proclaimed phantom thief. Four, five hours, perhaps weeks, and suddenly he’s the suaviest gentleman ever to suave.  
  


Shuichi found that he couldn’t last very long near Ouma before his head would pound or his cheeks would produce a new red on the color spectrum or something or other that made Shuichi… _ change,  _ in any way.

  
Ouma hummed, raising himself up on his tiptoes as he pressed against Shuichi’s chest, reaching the collar to play with it, sowing up what little mistakes there were as he fiddled with the poor model’s shirt. Shuichi wasn’t used to such close contact. His heart sped up frantically, attempting to keep up with the fellow teenager casually leaning up on him like he was some wall. Ouma brushed his head against the crook of the model’s neck, and Shuichi’s face brightened. His eyes darted away from the boy as he fiddled with his needle, stabbing it into the pincushion-bracelet around his wrist.

After what felt like a long, insufferably close eternity in which Shuichi was forced to both not move nor huddle into a ball at such close contact (as such intimacy like this should be between lovers, right?),  Ouma stepped away, a sweet, large smile as always easily found on his face. “Allllll done! That wasn’t too bad, wasn’t it, Model-chan?” He mockingly tapped his chin in thought as he took out and stabbed another needle back into his wrist-pincushion. Shuichi winced, out of pity or fear, he couldn’t tell. “Of course, it must’ve been risky if you moved, y’know? I wouldn’t want a needle stuck in my beloved Model-chan!” 

Shuichi must’ve been looking at him weird, because the next thing the teenager across from him did was lean up to him, big eyes practically sparkling with innocence and grandeur. It was a kind of stare that had seen forests burn with a smile.

  
“Hey."

  
Shuichi nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the quiet _ clinking  _ noises of the bracelet around his own wrist. Thin and classy, a brown leather with a little white star reminiscent of the one on his hat, the simple similarity had him warm up to wearing it quickly, not used to the pressure on his own wrist.  
  


“Hey!”  
  


The star was really nice when he felt it through. The curves were sharp, refined, the threads going inwards, but the middle like a complicated constellation. He could feel the lines that made up the little divot of the star, drawn in by the smooth feel of the leather leading up to the lovely ornament. He hoped dearly he could keep this.

  
“Heeeeey, stupid!”  
  


He wondered who made it.   
  


“Shuichi, you motherfucking dumba-” Ouma’s eyebrows were furrowed together in frustration, eyes closing to a squint of fake anger.   
  
  
“Wha- hey, that’s..!”   
  


“What? Were you thinking something  _ weeeiirrdd  _ earlier, Mr. Model-chaaaannn?” Fixing Shuichi’s sleeves, he stepped back as to admire his handiwork. Shuichi had to admit the fabric was smooth and soft, the white-threaded designs in his shirt cool against his back, and altogether the breezy feel of the collar itself was on a rather high level, second only to the anime-obsessed designer the next room over.

“N-no! I-i’m just… You’re very…” He struggled to either stay polite or to avoid any compliments escaping his lips. No doubt Ouma would blow things out of proportion if he did. “...unnnpredictable..?”  
  
“Wow, thanks.” Ouma pouted, crossing his arms together and stomping a foot to the ground. “You’re great at parties, aren'tcha?.” A beat, two beats of silence passed as faint sound of some masculine guy-- the astronaut textile designer--? sang what sounded like Britney Spears through the thick walls. Shuichi picked at a loose thread.

Kokichi sighed loudly, piercing the thick veil of silence in the air. “Why,” He airily breathed, voice brash and proud like a kid who’d found someone out in a lie. “Are you  _ picking at the goddamn shirt, Model-chan.” _ Shuichi froze in his nervous fumblings. He hadn’t even noticed, and his breath caught up in his throat. “W-well--” 

 

Kokichi retracted a needle and thread, carefully threading the needle as he slowly advanced on the model.  
  


“What are you- you- h-hey! Don’t get so cl--lose!”  
  
  
“Stop moving around, Mister! If you move another inch, I’ll slice your  _ badonkers  _ right off!”   
  


“My-my  __ what?”  
  


“Your ahookabogs, model-chan!”  
  
  
“ _ Excuse me?!” _

 

-

 

Rantaro Amami. He was the guy a few doors away from Kokichi’s seamstress studio. The room where the guy who did the makeup, the piercings, resided in some gray area in between fashion and the beauty dept. 

He was a suave guy, never too surprised, and when he was, calmed down abnormally quickly. Friendly, soft-spoken, but the oddest thing to him was that ominous feel he carried with him, way too suspicious to be simply looked over. It was hard to look over that green head of hair and feel scared...or attracted, it depended on the person.

Kokichi felt safe around this guy. He’d accidentally stabbed him with his needles a plethora of times, but the guy never complained or tried to run off- as most of his victims had. 

It was probably the piercings. There were so many pinpricks of metal that Amami wore that Kokichi was sure that as many little hits the guy’d _ accidentally _ taken with his thin needle, it never bothered him. Hmm, the strangest thing. He pinned the shirt to the mannequin, focusing on keeping his own hand steady.

Amami was coming over to his studio. Kokichi’s throat felt dry- in part excitement, and part antipitation, preparing his best insults and things to talk about, hoping for the end result of Amami being so impressed he’d take all that money and buy a platoon- no that was too small, wasn’t it- a yacht filled with the brim with the high-class soda he was so fond of. 

 

Panta….

 

..First thing’s first, get your head out of the clouds. 

 

-

 

Kokichi was satisfied, sure. The pictures came out great, if he did say so himself, and the iconic smile Amami wore fit perfectly well with some photos. They joked around, pulled stupid skits, laughed at the latest trends (leopard print and skirts… will never, ever be stylish. That was literally just for the people with a fondness of walking around looking like an animal from below the waist. 

 

Creepy. 

 

But, even as the day ended, Kokichi couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of deja vu. It was like even as the day ended, he still wasn’t too happy, not yet. 

He spared a passing glance at his phone. 

What was he forgetting?

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

  
The phone lit up. 

 

**Saihawa Shuwuchi:** are we meeting up again tomorrow?

 

_ Motherfucking- of course yes-- _

 

**me:** ofc model chan who the fcuk do you think i am

**Saihawa Shuwuchi:** The person who keeps stabbing me.

**me:** its a talent uwu

**Saihawa Shuwuchi:**

**  
**  
Saihawa Shuwuchi: i worry for you sometimes

**me:** ily too mr model chan

**Saihawa Shuwuchi:** lies.  
  


Kokichi grinned.  
  


**me:  
**   
Saihawa Shuwuchi:  


**me: THATS SO** **_MEAN IM SO HURT I WEAWWY WEAWWYY WUV YOU ;w;_ **

**Saihawa Shuwuchi:** ,i,, wuv you too

 

Shuichi laughed.

 

**me:** ...but also fuck you <333

**Kowokichi Owouma:** _ i’m screenshotting this _

**Author's Note:**

> pp p l ease tell me you liked it im gonna die homework is not done ily fren i tried


End file.
